Those Summer Weeks
by themarchgirl
Summary: It's summer. Things change, and things continue to be. multi-chapter fic, also posted at LJ. Carly/Freddie. rated for some language, violence, and themes.
1. Chapter 1

Hi :) This is the multi-chapter fic I was talking about. I'm uploading all the chapters I've written now (five) and six is a work in progress! :D I really hope you like it.

* * *

His muscles were clearly visible under the thin t-shirt he was wearing, and her mouth was dry. The fact that it was almost ninety degrees didn't help either.

She shifted uneasily, her cheeks warm and the horrible feeling of sweat creeping round her underarms. Her hair was already in a ponytail, and she was wearing the lightest clothing she owned.

The snap of his laptop shutting made her jump. He glanced at her, a smirk appearing.

She tried not to swoon.

"You OK?" he asked her in that wonderfully rich, deep voice of his. She nodded and crossed her legs. She didn't notice that he swallowed hard when a little more leg was visible.

The clock ticked, their hormones bubbled, and the heat fanned across them.

* * *

Spencer bought five fans the next day, positioning them in the kitchen, the living room, his bedroom, Carly's room, and the iCarly studio. It was easier to do the webshow that week, and they made up for the lethargic mood they'd worn the week before.

The Groovy Smoothie was packed when they arrived, and so when they got their smoothies and fries they headed to the park. Finding a bench, Carly slumped on it eagerly, Freddie imitating her. Sam came back from stealing a ball off a few kids their age playing soccer, and the three of them sat there, slurping their cold smoothies in happy silence.

Naturally, Sam finished first, and began to munch on multiple fries at a time. Carly and Freddie watched her stuff huge handfuls in her mouth in mild disbelief, until Freddie exhaled heavily and his breath hit Carly's shoulder. She froze; gripping the cup a little tighter and feeling the goosebumps erupt on her skin.

The dress she was wearing had spaghetti straps, leaving the top of her back and her shoulders bare. Her pale skin set off the pastel lilac of the fabric, and her dark hair contrasted well with it.

She'd looked in the mirror earlier and had felt rather pleased with it.

Not that it was for anything. Not that she was trying to look pretty for anyone.

Of course not.

* * *

Sam slept over that night. They ended up on the couch, Carly's bare shoulder being Sam's pillow and a big cushion as Carly's. Their flannel pyjamas were enough to keep them cool, and they managed to sleep from eleven till nine.

School had ended a week ago, leaving them with seven weeks of summer left. Sam was going to Vegas with her mom as a very late 18th birthday present (she'd offered for Carly to go with her but Carly was a year younger) some time in August, Spencer had a two week Galaxy Wars convention to go to, and Freddie was heading to visit his aunt in Idaho next week.

She wasn't going anywhere. This depressing thought was her first that morning. Her friends were disappearing and reappearing all over the place, while she stayed exactly where she was.

She was going to miss them.

As she gently moved Sam over to the other side and tucked the big cushion under her soft, blonde curls, Carly blinked back a few tears.

* * *

Freddie's arms looked much stronger these days.

Carly found herself noticing these little things during the week that followed. At one rehearsal he had to move his heavy tech cart back a little for an iCarly skit, and he did it entirely by himself.

This was _Freddie_; her sweet, kind, smart best friend, with warm eyes and a bright smile. She started twirling her hair around her fingers whenever he was in the room, like it was eighth grade again and she was crushing on Jake and squealing with Sam behind corners between classes.

Except that everything Jake did made her stand stock still with her mouth open; with Freddie, it made her smile. She vaguely remembered those three days when she could kiss him whenever she liked, and they said things to each other that were too old for them.

* * *

Freddie's last afternoon before he left was filled with him yelling through the door at his mom, Spencer reminding him to say hi to little Stephanie and baby Oliver, and the heat of him washing over her every time he plonked, exhausted, down next to her on the couch.

Sam shot her last insult, Spencer ruffled his hair, and Carly slipped into his arms in the final five minutes.

"Will you text me when you get there?" she asked quietly, fingers digging into his back. He grinned and nodded.

"Of course I will," he answered softly, before leaning down her and pressing his lips to her cheek.

"I'll miss you," he breathed into her ear, and then he strode out of the door.

* * *

"Carly?"

"No."

"I'm bored!"

"Go eat some ham."

"I already did."

Carly glared feebly at her, too hot to really direct any annoyance at Sam. Spencer was out for the day and so they'd stolen all the fans and moved them to the living room where they were currently watching Girly Cow and out of refreshments.

"Come on, Carly! It'll be less humid outside. Maybe we can go to the pool, or something," Sam suggested.

Carly shook her head. "I want to sleep. But you can go. I think Wendy's around."

Sam said nothing in return to this, only moving closer.

"Are you OK?" she asked. "You've been pretty down this week."

Carly shrugged and played around with her phone.

"Carly, he'll be back in three days. Come on, we can go shopping! You can drag me into Glitter Gloss and then make me pretty here," Sam said in a sing-song voice.

"He only texted me once," Carly muttered.

"Carly, call him."

Carly looked at Sam. "Should I?"

"Well, you miss him, clearly, and I really think you should tell him that you have something very important to say when you get back," Sam finished with a wicked grin.

Carly blinked. "What?"

Sam moved so that they were nose-to-nose.

"You like him," she said slowly.

A blush flooded Carly's cheeks. She had yet to accept that, and this only made her denial worse.

"I don't _like_ him," she scoffed, breaking eye contact.

"You're right," Sam agreed. "You _love_ him."

Carly went even redder. "I...well...you can't say that!"

"Even when it's true?" Sam replied, raising her eyebrows.

"What makes you think I'm in love with him?" Carly asked her pointedly. Sam shrugged.

"Well, we know he's hopelessly head over heels for you, and you do the stuff he does except in a more feminine way," she explained.

"Like what?"

"Well, you automatically look a lot happier when he comes into the room. And I can see you staring at him, and I notice that you smile a lot more, and you wear make-up, and, I don't know," Sam broke off, her voice dropping. "You don't look at anyone else like that."

Carly sank backwards, her hand pressed to her forehead.

* * *

Freddie arrived late, pulling up to Bushwell Plaza in his mom's Prius at about one am. He was tired from the journey, and worn out from babysitting two small children. He grabbed his suitcase and followed his mother into the lobby, where they were screamed at by Lewbert (he just washed the floors, and couldn't they be a little quieter, for Pete's sake?).

It was three before he fell asleep, and even then he was too excited about seeing Carly and Sam and Spencer to sleep well.

He looked awful the next morning – bleary, blotchy, and scruffy. His mother shrieked in horror at the sight of him, and he was subject to twenty minutes of combing and washing. His knee bounced in eagerness to go across the hall. Finally, he was announced presentable, and he hurried through the door, flexing his shirt quickly in the humid air that seemed to float everywhere.

He hadn't even raised his fist to knock when the Shay's door was open and he was being hugged very tightly. He wrapped his arms happily around her, inhaling her flowery perfume.

"Hi," she murmured, pulling back. Her eyes shone.

"Hey," he replied, his hand still resting on her waist. She opened her mouth again, but Spencer's loud cry of pain made them jump away from each other.

"Spencer?" Carly called, rushing through the door. Freddie followed her.

"I'm OK," shouted Spencer's muffled voice. "I wouldn't try washing an ostrich in here."

Carly sighed and dropped onto her couch. Freddie sat next to her and her head leant on his shoulder.

"What am I going to do with him?" she moaned. Freddie stifled a laugh and patted her knee.

"I think he'll be OK," he reassured her. "Don't worry."

She looked at him. "Really?"

He nodded, and they stared at each other.

Her eyes were still shining.

Had she ever been this small?

Her small hand was touching his arm, then his shoulder, then his chest. His fingers ached to feel her skin, and the need intensified when she pressed the tips of her fingers to his cheek.

They continued to stare at each other while his arm circled her waist. Her eyes contained only curiosity, and her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked every so often.

At last, the corners of her mouth turned up and he panicked for a second. Had she heard his heart hammering in his chest? Had she seen into his soul and found his secret? That he was still in love with her, after all these years?

Instead, she pushed his hair off his forehead, and his scalp tingled.

He found his hand to be trailing up her arm, round her elbow, over her shoulder, over her shoulder blades, up to the nape of her neck, and then round to her cheek.

Her skin was warm and soft, just as expected. He cupped the curve of her cheekbone, and she was still smiling.

He was surprised at his willpower when he realised he hadn't even thought of kissing her yet.

And now he was thinking about it, and wanting it. He licked his lips nervously, watching the distance between them decrease slowly.

He could almost, _almost_, feel her mouth on his, and images of when he kissed her a year ago flashed in his mind. What he had felt then rushed back in an avalanche.

He gently, softly (almost didn't) pressed his lips to hers.

Their mouths barely touched, and he felt and heard her sigh. He applied a little more pressure, pulling her a bit closer.

A quiet, breathy, moan sounded from her, and then Spencer broke the spell.

"No, Marvin! Don't eat the soap! That's our fancy soap! It won't taste good!"

Carly squeaked in shock and hurled herself away from him, trembling. Her eyes were wide, and her hand was pressed to her mouth.

"Carly," Freddie began in a husky voice. "Carly, wait –"

"You need help, Spencer?" Carly suddenly yelled in the direction of her brother, hands shaking.

"No, I'm OK, kiddo!"

"OK, I'll come and help you!"

She darted into her brother's room, leaving Freddie alone.

"Shit," he muttered, dropping his head into his hands. "Shit."

_Shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

Carly found that it was harder to be in the same room as him now without suppressing the urge to throw her arms around him. They sat next to each other in study hall, which was difficult (he was right there, just half a foot away, warm and strong and wonderful), and it was proving hard to push him out of her mind.

He'd kissed her, and it seemed that they were going to forget it. He still smiled at her, he still sat a little too close, and he still came over every day after school.

Except that she was so much more aware of him.

She knew when he was two metres away from her, and if he was sitting next to her she couldn't concentrate on anything.

She often wondered if he was trying to kill her.

* * *

"Hey, Freddie, hand me that screwdriver," Spencer asked.

He passed the instrument to Carly's brother, not really paying attention.

"Thanks," Spencer said. He frowned. "You and Carly OK?"

"What? Yeah, we're fine."

Spencer raised his eyebrows. "You'd have to be stupid not to see the tension there, buddy."

Freddie knotted his fingers together and looked in another direction.

"I love her," he began reluctantly. "I love her so much and I can't make any mistakes. I can't lose her, Spencer. And if not losing her means staying her best friend for the rest of her life, then I'll do it."

He stopped, wringing his hands.

"I've got to go," he muttered, nodding in Spencer's direction before walking briskly to the door.

* * *

It was later that night when he realised he'd left his USB at the Shay's. Sighing, he got up from his desk and tugged a sweater over his head.

His mom was asleep in her room, but he left a note anyway in case she woke up.

He knocked as softly as he could on their door, straining his ears for the sound of footsteps.

None came, but he could make out the sound of the TV. He experimentally turned the door handle – it was open.

He slipped inside, carefully shutting the door.

Carly was fast asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket. Her hair was a mess, her mouth was open in an odd shape, and she was beautiful.

He padded over to her and knelt down next to her. Sweeping her hair back, he leant in and pressed his mouth to her forehead. He squeezed her fingers and whispered his devotion to her.

He straightened and noticed his USB on the little table next to the couch. Picking it up, Freddie looked at the sleeping girl and a small smile flickered across his mouth.

He was almost to the door when a sleepy mumbling of his name sounded. He turned and went back to her, watching her blink and stretch.

"What're you doing here?" she asked. He held up the USB.

"I left this here," he murmured. She nodded and then jerked upwards.

"Crap, did I fall asleep?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I think so."

Her head tilted in his direction, her eyes became bigger and her lip jutted outwards. "Would you carry me upstairs?"

He rolled his eyes but consented, sliding an arm under her knees and another round her waist. Carly nestled against him, her eyelids drooping again.

She was light, and he worried briefly about whether she was eating enough. He carried her up the stairs and into her room, where he somehow managed to pull back her covers and lay her down.

He stifled a yelp as she tugged him down next to her. A muffled giggle escaped her, and she was smiling as she rolled nearer to him.

"Stay with me," she mumbled. "Please."

His hand caught hers.

"You know I will."

"Freddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when we had that really awful fight?"

He swallowed. "I wish I didn't."

She moved then; her arm rested on his chest and her head leant against his arm.

"I missed you."

She was almost asleep, her words sticking together and her eyes shut. He looked down at her.

"Me too," he whispered.

He fell asleep to the lullaby of her breathing.

* * *

It was still awkward, though, and she was still incredibly attracted to him. He only had to smile at her or touch her arm and her knees turned to jelly.

She saw Sam smirking wickedly at these things, which annoyed her to no end.

One particular incident occurred whilst rehearsing iCarly. Carly was at the end of her tether, finding it hard not to rip off Freddie's shirt and –

She shook her head, ridding herself of any inappropriate thoughts. She smiled, said her lines, flung her arm around Sam's shoulder at the right time, and acted completely normally. But it couldn't last.

On the way out of the studio, Sam poured her bottled water over Freddie's head, laughing at his yells of protest. Carly's mouth was familiarly dry again; the t-shirt he was wearing was sticking to him.

She wobbled, and slumped onto the bean bag.

"Carly? Are you OK?" Freddie was looking at her.

She nodded and made a faint noise of affirmation, but he went over to her anyway.

"Are you sure? You look kind of pale," he told her, squatting next to her and feeling her forehead.

The contact made her suck in an unsteady breath. He smelled wonderful. As he scrutinised her she gazed up at him, happy to stare at him for a while.

He caught her eye and smiled uneasily, pushing her hair back and feeling her pulse. It was faster than usual, which surprised him.

"Well, you don't have a fever or anything. Do you feel faint?" he asked, going into full medical mode. She nodded.

"Come on, let's go to the Groovy Smoothie and get some sugar in you," he said, pulling her upwards and keeping her steady with his hand on her back.

"Are you feeling a little better?" Freddie asked as she sucked on her straw eagerly. She nodded, and he sighed, relieved.

* * *

"I was worried about you back there. You looked like you were going to pass out or something," Freddie told her.

"I think it's the heat," Carly said, fiddling with the ends of her hair. "I just feel faint all the time."

"You should drink more water," Freddie suggested. "It gets more oxygen to your brain and muscles, and you won't get dehydrated."

Carly rested her chin on her hand. "What grade are you getting in Biology?"

"Um, an A?" Freddie replied, bashfully ducking his head. Carly laughed and patted his hand.

"You're really smart, be proud of that," she said kindly.

He smiled at her, turning his hand over and linking their fingers.

"Thanks," he murmured.

The place was empty, sans T-Bo, who was trying to convince some ten-year-olds to buy several lollipops. They were sitting in the corner by the window, their chairs close together. Carly leaned against him, not minding the extra warmth that enveloped her.

It was colder, today, and Freddie had taken one step outside of their apartment building and rushed back inside to change his damp shirt. He was now wearing a brown t-shirt with an unbuttoned white shirt over it. His hair was already dry, and he was perfectly content to sit here like this until he fell asleep.

"Freddie?" Carly asked, playing with his fingers. "What college do you want to go to?"

He thought for a second. "Well, I've been wondering about applying to NYU, or Seattle, and I've kind of considered Oxford."

"In England?"

"Yeah," Freddie said, poking her fingers with his own and grinning at her giggle. "I've got some family over there, like, distant relatives, but I know them pretty well and it'd be cool to try a different culture."

"Don't they specialise in English courses?" Carly thought out loud.

"Yeah," Freddie answered as they started a full-out thumb war. "I think so."

"Oh, man, but you'd have to get straight A's, wouldn't you?"

"Well, in England, you have to get six or seven 'A stars' at GCSE, and do at least fairly well at your A levels, but yeah, you'd have to get good grades at finals and stuff," Freddie explained.

Carly pinned down his thumb, smirking at his wince. "Sounds pretty hard."

"Ow! Carly, your thumbs hurt. But hey, you're getting loads of A's," Freddie pointed out, wrenching his thumb up.

"Not really. Mr Devlin gave me a C last week for my paper," Carly admitted glumly, pulling her hand away. "He said I lost marks on 'over-detailing'."

Freddie slipped his arm round her. "You worked so hard on that, that's terrible."

She cuddled into his side again, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

"I'm so glad I've got you," she mumbled.

Heat shot through him, making his cheeks go red and his heart beat a little faster. "You're welcome."

She smiled up at him, knocking the breath out of him. He swallowed.

Oh dear. Their faces were a little too close again.

It seemed that she'd noticed it too.

Her eyes penetrated his, as if she was searching for something. Her hand cupped his chin and she bit her lip once before kissing him.

He reacted instantly; pulling her tight against him and returning her kiss, feeling things explode in his stomach and enjoying the numbness in his brain.

She was tugging on his shirt with her _oh so wonderful_ hands, and she probably would've had it off in another few seconds had T-Bo not arrived with a handful of lollipops and a chesty cough.

* * *

Carly slammed the door.

She leant against it, panting. An unbelieving grin broke out on her face.

He loved her.

And he wanted to take her out to dinner.

Holy crap, this was great.

She'd been happily wrapped in his arms a minute ago, having just heard his glorious voice tell her lovely things, and his mom had appeared, brandishing some of her 'boy spray' and a hefty glare.

Freddie had yelled for her to run, and whispered in her ear that he loved her and that he would text her. She'd nodded breathlessly and hurried for safety.

"So how was the marathon?" Spencer asked from the kitchen, an eyebrow raised.

She went bright red, and her brother smirked.

"Who have you been kissing, kiddo?"

"Nobody," Carly lied, heading for the stairs. "Why would you think I was kissing someone?"

"Because your mouth is very red, and your hair is kind of messy, and you look _very_ happy," Spencer said. "So I think _somebody's _done some kissing!"

Carly sighed.

"I was kissing Freddie, OK?"

Spencer froze, his eyes widening.

"Spencer?" Carly walked over to him and waved her hand in front of his face.

He slapped himself, and managed to knock himself out cold.


	3. Chapter 3

"My turn."

"You just asked one!"

"Did I? Dang."

Carly giggled and swished her arm, letting the evening sun reflect off her shiny heels. Her bare feet on the pavement was an interesting feeling, and the shoes had been getting uncomfortable. Freddie pulled her a little closer, the breeze ruffling his hair.

"When you're old and grey," Carly began, stifling a laugh at his raised eyebrow. "Where do you want to be?"

He looked at her, the light picking out gold flecks in his eyes. "I don't know. Somewhere I can be happy and comfortable, you know? Surrounded by people I care about."

She nodded, smoothing her dress. "Yeah, I know," she replied quietly. "Your turn."

He thought for a moment, and then seemed to receive inspiration. "This is a weird question to ask right now, but, what...exactly...happened to your mom?"

"She developed leukemia," Carly said. "She got it when I was five, and she just...wasted away..."

An almost wistful expression crossed her features. He wanted to kick himself for asking.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up," Freddie murmured.

"No, it's OK," she assured, smiling up at him. "It's good to talk about stuff like that, right? So you can accept it, and instead of mourning their death, you can celebrate their life."

He dropped a kiss on her temple, a sense of pride welling inside him. "That's such a good way to look at it."

She shrugged. "Spencer taught me that. After my dad left for the navy he taught me all kinds of moral-esque things."

"Did your dad not teach you that stuff?"

"Not really. He's kind of...cold," Carly explained. "He doesn't hug me when I see him, or tell me he loves me. He asks questions about school and college and scolarships and I've only just started thinking about it."

She sighed. Freddie rubbed her arm sympathetically.

"And I mean, yeah, my future's important, but I wish he'd ask about...me, you know? Like my friends, my interests, my aspirations, my feelings?" Carly broke off. "That sounds really selfish. God, I should be happy to see him when I do, not moaning about what he asks me."

Freddie frowned. "I don't know. I think I'd be pretty annoyed if my dad came back from wherever he is and asked me where I was going to college and then just left."

Carly laughed. "He doesn't just pop his head round the door and say "So, Carly, how are those college applications coming along?", get my answer, and leave, Freddie. He stays for dinner and takes me out somewhere and he always brings something from abroad. Like, last time, he brought me this awesome little snow globe from Japan, and a clay kitten from Indonesia, and he brought Spencer this _huge_ book with all these artists that Spencer looks up to."

Freddie smiled, a little sheepish. Carly beamed at him and pressed her lips to his cheek.

They turned into their building, still talking. The light was fading, the shadows spreading across the sidewalk and behind the dark green trees.

* * *

"Carlotta! Carly! _Carls_!"

One eye opened.

"What, Spencer?"

"Get up, quick!"

"Why? It's summer, Spence."

"Dad's here, Carly."

She shot up in bed.

"Oh my God," Carly breathed.

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"Uh huh."

* * *

"Hello, Caroline."

"Hi, Dad," Carly said sweetly, her hands behind her back. "What a nice surprise."

"Well, I'm on leave for a week and I thought I might visit my children," General Shay said, standing perfectly straight and unsmiling. "How's school, Caroline?"

"Absolutely fine, Daddy, thank you," Carly replied, her cheeks beginning to ache.

"What classes are you taking?"

"This year I am studying English, History, Calculus, Biology, Politics and Chemistry," she recited.

Her father nodded in approval. "How's the art, Spencer?"

"Good, Dad. I just heard yesterday that a local gallery wants to do an exhibition about new, revoloutionary artists, so I've submitted an email to them with some of my pieces," Spencer explained formally. The sophisticated words were unfamiliar.

"Excellent. I'm very proud of you," General Shay said. "Caroline, would you mind bringing me a glass of tap water?"

"Of course not, Dad," Carly answered, wondering if she should curtsey too.

Her back turned, she allowed herself to grimace at what torture was to come.

* * *

Carly sipped the white wine her father had ordered, craving a Strawberry Splat. The wine was good, refreshing and delicious, but she'd seen the price and it was far more than a regular smoothie for one seventy five. She knew her dad was extremely well off, but he didn't need to flaunt it.

"I think I'll have the lamb," her father decided. "Caroline, the chicken seems like something you'd enjoy, I'll order that for you."

"Well, actually, Dad," Carly chirped. "I was thinking of having the mussels, if you don't mind."

He frowned at her for a second, before shrugging. "All right then."

He looked over the menu again, before shutting it and offering his daughter the first smile she'd seen in a year.

"What's this I hear about you and that Freddie?"

She stiffened. "Oh. What – what did you hear?"

"Spencer tells me he's your boyfriend."

"Oh, well, yeah. I guess he is," Carly replied quietly, a small smile ghosting across her mouth.

"Does he care about you?"

"He tells me he loves me."

General Shay raised his eyebrows. "I see."

"He's my best friend, Dad," Carly insisted.

"Oh really?"

"We do iCarly every week with Sam."

"iCarly? What's _iCarly_?"

Hurt filled her.

"It's our webshow," she answered. "I do it with Sam and Freddie every-"

"You do a webshow?" He asked, interrupting her.

"Yes, Dad," she said, blinking away angry tears.

"Since when?"

"I've been doing it for three and half years, Dad," she said. "We get over a million viewers every week."

"I was never told about it," he hissed.

"You never asked, Dad," Carly said. "You never ask what my hobbies are, or what I did in the summer. It's always about school and grades and college."

"Your academic achievements are important to me, Caroline," her father replied in a warning voice.

"Dad, stop calling me that," she snapped. "My name is _Carly_."

"Don't you dare speak to me like that," he said, his voice quiet and angry. "You've always been Caroline."

"Mom called me Carly," she blurted out, before slapping a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

He glared at her, his eyes blue and cold and furious.

"Get up. Now."

She stood, and so did he. A waiter approached in protest, but immediately scrambled away when General Shay's glare was fixed upon him.

He took her arm, holding it much too tight. The tears finally squeezed past her resistance and slipped down her cheeks at the pain. They exited the restaurant, her father dragging her towards his car.

"Get in," he hissed. She obeyed, her whole body shaking.

He drove much too fast, in complete silence.

* * *

The worst bit came outside the Shay's door.

He finally let go of her arm and she wrenched it towards her body, soothing the soreness with her fingers. The tears were still dripping down her face; her eyes held fear and resentment.

He pointed a large finger at her, still angry. She shrank away from it, getting closer to Freddie's door.

"I am ashamed of you," he said. "You will _not_ speak of her. You will _not_ be called Carly. You will _not_ do your webshow. And you will _not_ speak to me in that way."

"Dad," she tried. "Dad, Daddy, _please_, I'm _sorry_-"

He slapped her.

He slapped her so hard her head spun to the right and her neck cricked.

Her fingertips tentatively touched the red, stinging area as she choked and gasped.

She heard him unlock the door and leave her outside in her white dress and her silver shoes and her shame.

* * *

Freddie heard the Shay's door close and opened his within half a second.

He bent down and gently scooped her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and began to cry desperately.

He carried her to his bedroom, past his gaping mother and the program about the latest camera technology he'd put aside homework for.

He settled her on his lap once they got to his bed and wrapped his arms very tightly around her. She put one arm around his neck in a chokehold and bit into her other fist to keep herself from wailing.

"Just cry, OK?" he said. He kissed her hair before continuing. "Just cry, beautiful, just cry, just let it out."

And she did.

A cry broke from her – a strangled, grief-stricken cry that tore through him and made his blood pulse with anger and the need to protect. He pulled her even closer and fought his own tears, cradling her and rocking her. Her tears were stabbing at him with tiny knives but he didn't care. The lump in his throat was hard and large but he kept it down, closing his eyes and stroking her hair.

When she was done and her eyes drooped, he lay down and pulled her with him, keeping his arm around her. She yawned and cuddled into his side, still sniffling. Her make-up was ruined and she looked like a panda.

His mouth found her forehead, and before she fell asleep he whispered that he loved her.


	4. Chapter 4

She was beautiful.

He traced her cheek with his finger, marvelling at the silkiness of her skin and the soft rosiness of it. He reached her chin and stroked his thumb over her mouth as she exhaled, her warm breath tickling it. She looked more tranquil than she had done the night before – her tears were gone, and her hands were no longer clenched into tiny fists, pressed into his side.

Why had her father done that?

Why had he hurt his sweet, kind, lovely daughter?

Carly mumbled his name in her sleep and he subconsciously tightened his arms around her. The urge to protect her was still strong, and he looked at her sleeping face one more time before glancing at his clock.

It was almost seven in the morning, and the first light was starting to peek through the gaps in his curtains. It made her skin glow and her hair shine.

He nestled his head back into the crook of her neck, his eyes closing and sleep overtaking him again.

* * *

When he woke up again later she was threading her fingers through his hair.

He sighed, soothed by her gentle ministrations. He considered nodding off again but he wanted to talk to her. He pulled his head away and smiled at her.

"Hi," she murmured.

"Morning, beautiful," he replied, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "Did you sleep OK?"

She shrugged. "As well as I could."

He nodded, moving his hand over her back in a circle. "Do you want to stay here today?"

She kissed the tip of his nose and grinned. "Thank you."

He sat up then, reluctantly leaving their embrace. "You should probably text Spencer, just to let him know where you are and stuff."

She pushed herself off his very comfortable bed and looked for her purse. Finding it, she took her phone out and saw she had ten missed calls and fifteen text messages.

She opened her inbox. Two were from Sam, ten were from Spencer, one was from the phone company and two were from her dad.

"Freddie," she said. "He texted me."

He came over with a t-shirt and sweatpants in his hand. "Oh."

She sank down onto his bed, taking the clothes he handed to her. Only then did she realise that she was still wearing her white dress.

"I didn't change yesterday," she said.

He nodded. "You cried yourself to sleep."

She blinked at him, before taking a deep breath and pressing her thumb a couple of times to her phone screen.

"Caroline, I expect you home tomorrow by 3:00," she read. "We will discuss everything then."

Freddie slid his arm around her waist without thinking. She leaned into him and pressed the screen twice.

"Your behaviour will not be tolerated," she read, her voice shaking. "You were not raised to disrespect me like you did. Your mother would not be happy."

She threw her phone down and let out a shriek of frustration.

"I can't _believe _him! He actually thinks I'm going to let him walk all over me! He thinks he can treat me like that! I can't...I can't..."

She was already tearful, and her fury went past the point of speech. She was angry and upset and hurt and all she needed now was a good cry, even though she'd sobbed her share the night before.

Freddie pulled her onto his lap again, and she surrendered herself to his shoulder and her tears.

* * *

Eventually she was reduced to sniffles and hiccups, and Freddie decided it was time for her to get out of her dress and into something more comfortable and better for slouching around in.

She was almost asleep again, which made it difficult to make her move into his bathroom, where she could shower and change in peace. She was slumped against him, clearly exhausted, and so he sighed and carried her there.

He set her down on the toilet, holding her steady with a hand on her waist and her shoulder as he kneeled in front of her. She gazed at him blearily for a second before yawning. He smiled slightly.

"Carly?" he murmured. "Carly, you need a shower."

She frowned at him sleepily. "I don't."

"Yes, you do. It'll make you feel better, I promise."

"But I'm so _tired_," she moaned.

"Carly, am I going to have to treat you like a baby?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

She nodded, and he panicked for a fraction of a second.

_He wasn't going to look._

Absolutely not. He was a gentleman, and he would merely help her, and she would hopefully sit with her knees drawn up to her chest, and he would wash her hair, and then dry her, and help her into her (well, his, actually) clothes, and that would be that.

He took a deep breath and took her face in his hands.

"Carly, that means I'm going to have to take your dress off."

"It's OK," she said, her words slurred by her fatigue. "You're going to see it all one day, I bet."

The prospect of her words was _not_ helping.

"Are you sure?"

"Freddie, I wanna sleep, hurry up," she groaned, eyes fluttering closed.

He slowly reached behind her for the zip, and tugged it down. She helpfully (or not so helpfully; he wasn't quite sure yet) stretched her arms out, and the dress was gone in a matter of seconds.

He pushed the material into the corner, and turned back to find she was undoing the clasp of her bra and her underwear was slipping down her slender hips. He swallowed.

She noticed his anxiety and giggled. "Freddie, you can look."

He shook his head vigorously.

"Freddie," she repeated. "Can you help me? The clasp is stuck."

His face was much too warm but he shuffled closer to her. She turned around and he felt the soft article until he found the wire, and he carefully unhooked it. He heard her whispered thanks and nodded, even though she couldn't see him. He was in awe at how soft her skin was.

As she turned, he smacked his hands over his eyes.

She laughed and moved towards him.

"Freddie, you need to run the bath," she said.

"But I'll see you naked and get embarrassed and run away," he mumbled.

"You won't see anything now. Get up and run the bath," She told him, her voice sleepy again.

He cautiously removed his hand, opening one eye and then the other.

Carly smiled lethargically at him from the toilet, where she was sitting with her knees up. Her skin was pale and beautiful and he wanted to touch it to see if it was as smooth as it looked.

He coughed nervously and got to his feet, grabbing a bottle of bubble bath from the shelf and making his way over to the bath. He turned the taps on, watching the steam float into the air. He poured a little of the bubble solution into the water and tested the temperature.

He sat back against the tub and looked over at her. Her head was lolling, her hair spilling over her knees. Her skin looked almost golden in the low light of the small room. Her eyes were barely open.

He reached out a hand to her, and she did the same, and their fingers locked together.

"I love you," he said, and she smiled.

"I love _you_," she mumbled. He grinned at her and turned awkwardly to check the water. It wasn't quite ready yet.

"You know I'm here, don't you?" he asked quietly, squeezing her fingers. She nodded.

"I know. I know," she replied, concealing another yawn behind her other hand. She really was just about to fall asleep, so he tested the water again, and it was ready.

He got up and stood away from her, screwing his eyes shut.

"Carly, you can get in now," he mumbled bashfully. He heard her move, and her quiet footfalls, and then the soft splash of the water as she settled in the tub.

"OK, I'm in," she said. He opened his eyes and went over to her, kneeling by the bath and reaching for the shower head.

* * *

And so he washed, rinsed, and repeated, combing her wet hair with his fingers and moving his soapy hands over her back. He did her face rinse for her, cupping her cheeks more than was needed, and carefully washing off the exfoliating cream.

And then she stepped out of the bath, and he wrapped her in a towel, and as he patted her skin dry he pressed kisses to her shoulder and her neck and her arms. He pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and pulled his t-shirt over her head, letting his fingers linger on her hips for just a second. She slipped her underwear and the sweatpants on too, and then he picked her up and carried her to his bed.

Five minutes later she was sleeping soundly, one hand tucked under her chin and the other fisting in his duvet. He was lying next to her, his arm slung over her waist when he remembered the errands he had to run. He got up reluctantly, wanting to stay with Carly, but found his wallet and a jacket. He wrote her a quick note and then let himself kiss her forehead before heading out.

_Carly, I'm just going to get some groceries and stuff for my mom. I'll be back soon, so don't worry about me. I hope you slept OK. I love you._

* * *

It was a quick visit to the grocery store, thankfully, and the pharmacy was much the same. Freddie was done within half an hour, and as he headed back he wondered if Carly was awake yet.

He reached the building and went through the glass doors, awkwardly holding the paper bags in his arms as he tried to fish his keys out of his pocket. He managed to hook a finger round the metal ring of the toy bear he had on it, and was just pulling on it when someone blocked his path.

He looked up and saw the frightening, threatening figure of Carly's father looking down at him.

To be honest, he was _glaring_ at him.

"Oh," Freddie said curtly. "Hello."

Anger was boiling beneath his skin. _This_ was the man who had hurt Carly. _This_ was the man that had left her sobbing in Freddie's arms.

"You are Fredward Benson, correct?" General Shay asked.

"Yes," Freddie replied.

"As I am a general, you'll call me _sir_, boy," General Shay said.

"I think if I did that it would insinuate that I had some respect for you, which I don't," Freddie shot back.

"What makes you think you can speak to me like that?"

"Who do you think Carly went to last night, huh, _General_?" Freddie spat. "Who do you think held her while she cried herself to sleep? You hurt her. You slapped your own _fucking_ daughter and you don't even regret it just a little bit."

"Hey, hey! No swearing in my lobby!" Lewbert screeched from his desk, flailing his arms about. Both of the other males ignored him.

"She is my daughter and I will discipline her how I wish," the general hissed.

"Yeah? Well I'm going to fight for her 'how I wish'," Freddie said angrily.

General Shay looked at him for a few seconds.

"How much do you care about my daughter?" he asked quietly.

"I love her," Freddie replied immediately. "I love her so much that I spend every waking moment thinking about her, and I dream about her, and I'll do anything to protect her and keep her safe, even if it's away from me. I'm so in love that I can't think straight when she's around me, and she makes me clumsy and my stomach flip over and my voice go all weird. And if you hurt her I have a secret weapon that ensures you suffer."

The General blinked. "What weapon?"

Freddie stared him down. "Sam Puckett."

"What, that delinquent blonde girl?"

"She could kick your ass into _next year_," Freddie stated. "I won't allow you to hurt Carly ever again."

The General nodded at him, and then patted his shoulder. Freddie repressed the urge to shrug it off, until the older man removed his hand and walked past him, out into the Seattle sunshine.

* * *

Carly was still asleep when he returned, except that she had rolled over and her hair was splayed over the pillow. The sight of her brought a smile to his face, and he went to lie next to her again. He ever-so-carefully tugged her into his arms, letting her head rest on his chest and her small hand fold over the joint of his elbow.

He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the smell of caramel and mango.

He wouldn't be anywhere else.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam discovered Spencer's hoard of tequila on Friday night, and insisted.

"Let's have some fun, kids," she said, pulling glasses from the cupboard and pouring the clear liquid into each one.

Freddie looked sceptical and Carly worried.

"Sam, that stuff's really strong," Freddie warned.

"Duh," Sam replied. "We're not going to have much, just enough to get a little party started."

"Are you going to throw another tantrum on my couch if we don't go along with it?" Carly asked dryly.

Sam shrugged. "If that would make you happy."

Carly sighed and reached for a glass.

* * *

At first it was kind of gross, and it didn't taste of anything, but when things got a little blurry and slow it was OK.

Sam put the stereo on, and they danced around to the Plain White T's for two hours.

The beat pulsed through their bodies and created a slow tempo under their heartbeats. They sang along to the lyrics, occasionally stopping to down another shot.

At some point Carly found a box of confetti, and they grabbed fistfuls of it and tossed it into the air. Freddie watched the little pieces of paper float to the ground in a sort of stupor, his vision not at its best. Carly twirled around, letting them stick to her hair and her arms. Sam started eating them.

They found a disco ball and watched the light reflect off the wall as they jumped around and sang and hugged.

"Finally it's our time now!" Carly yelled, almost smacking Freddie in the face as she threw her arms around enthusiastically. Sam giggled and stumbled towards the bottle again, drinking straight from it.

Freddie wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest, grinning when she squeaked. She smiled at him and ruffled his hair, sending more confetti cascading towards the rug.

Sam began picking up the confetti and letting it slip from her fingers again. Her head lolled and her eyes closed for a second. When they opened the blue shone.

"It's so pretty," she mumbled, gazing at the paper floating like dust in the air around her.

* * *

They ended up on the couch.

Carly was tucked under Freddie's arm, cuddled into his side. Sam's head was in Freddie's lap. Carly had her fingers locked in Sam's blonde curls, and Sam and Freddie's fingers were touching.

Spencer came in at three in the morning to a messy living room and three teenagers sleeping like logs on his couch.

He almost yelped at the sight of two tequila bottles and three glasses and confetti everywhere, but he knew they'd clear it up.

Well, Carly and Freddie would, anyway.

He smiled, patted his sister's head and headed into his room.

* * *

Carly moaned as she woke up, clutching her forehead and scrunching her eyes shut at the light.

"I am never drinking again," she groaned. She untangled herself from her friends and managed to walk to the kitchen without _too_ much difficulty. She found the headache pills, and got some water, and took the medicine. The water was refreshing and she felt a little better.

She looked over at Sam and Freddie. They were still sound asleep, but she kept the pills out just in case. They'd wake up soon; the sunlight was beginning to streak through the blinds and Carly could already feel humidity settling around her.

* * *

It seemed a do-nothing-day was ahead of them.

Freddie looked very, very pale when he sat up; accepting the cup of water Carly gave him, he grimaced but took a large gulp.

She patted his arm. "Are you OK?"

He shook his head. "I feel crap."

She hugged him silently, and his eyelids drooped again.

"Can I sleep again?" he asked.

"Course you can," she said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. "You can use my bed if you want."

"I don't know if I can get up without throwing up, Carly," he moaned quietly.

Worry rose in her throat but she fought it.

"Oh, well, I'll get some pillows for you," she decided. "Sam already went home; she says your hair is stupid."

"Send my regards back," he replied dryly, letting go of her and slumping so that he was lying down. She felt his forehead and he was very warm.

"Freddie, you're nearly burning up, I'll get you a flannel," she fretted, standing and hurrying to the kitchen. She grabbed a flannel and soaked it in cold water, then wrung it out and brought it back over.

She laid it gently on his forehead. He sighed as the coolness soothed his headache and closed his eyes. Carly smiled down at him and brushed his hair back, before adjusting a cushion under his head and leaving him to sleep.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, and it made her heart swell. It brought a strangely protective feeling with it, and she resisted the urge to sit there too and pull him into her arms.

Instead she started to make some of her favourite juice; blackcurrant. It was fruity and deliciously cold, and she held the glass between her palms to rid her hands of that horrible clammy feeling.

Spencer came in then, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and clad in plaid pyjamas.

"Hey, little sister," he mumbled, waving comically. "You guys had fun last night."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth twisted guiltily.

"You all passed out on the couch," he explained, taking a seat at the table. "But you cleaned up, which is really great."

She breathed again, relieved that he wasn't angry with her.

"What's up with Freddie?" he asked, frowning at the sleeping boy on the couch.

"I think he's sick; he's got a temperature and he's really pale," she said, looking at her boyfriend too. "I'm kind of worried."

Spencer nodded. "It could be a reaction to the alcohol. Maybe it didn't really agree with him."

Carly bit her lip, not taking her eyes off Freddie. Spencer saw the anxiety in her face and he was reminded of their late mother.

Both Spencer and Carly had her brown hair and brown eyes, but Spencer had received her scatter-brain and Carly their father's need for organisation and control.

He hadn't quite forgiven their father for what he did to Carly, even though the Admiral had apologised and Carly had smiled and hugged and been perfectly OK. He had yelled at their father for an hour when he returned without his sister, furious that he would take away her freedom and happiness and every shred of dignity she had.

Carly was a girl with dreams and memories and friends and love and if anyone tried to take that away from her, they'd have to deal with him.

(Granted, he wasn't terribly strong, but it was the thought that counted, right?)

* * *

Sam entered the loft later that day to hear Freddie puking in a nearby bathroom and Carly's voice laced with worry but firmly reassuring.

Spencer was drawing something next to the computer and she went over to him.

"What's up with Freddie?"

Spencer looked up. "He's sick; probably something to do with the stuff you drank last night."

Sam raised her eyebrows and sat next to him.

"What are you drawing?" she asked, pulling a grape from the bowl in front of them and peering at his sketchpad.

"I'm drawing this picture," he replied distractedly, waving his finger in the general direction of a photo frame. A woman who rather resembled both Carly and Spencer was smiling into the camera, hair flying with the wind and a dark green stone flashed next to her fingers as she played with the chain of her necklace.

"Is that your mom?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Spencer said, grinning slightly. "She's really beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," Sam agreed. "What did she do?"

"She taught art to little kids. She loved it," Spencer said, looking wistfully at the photo. "She had this amazing passion for art. She taught me how to draw when I was little."

Sam rested her hand on his shoulder.

"And then she got leukaemia. She didn't want to draw anymore. She just lay in bed and looked out of the window," Spencer murmured sadly.

"Oh, Spencer," Sam breathed.

He smiled wryly, his pencil going back to snaking lines and shading greys onto the paper.

"But it was OK, because I looked after Carly and she made me happy," he said, keeping his eyes on the sketchpad. "She brought a little light with her."

Sam felt so incredibly emotional at that moment that she flung her arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

"Sam? You OK, kiddo?"

"Fine," she growled, burying her face in his t-shirt. "I'm _fine_."

He slipped his hands around her too, nestling his cheek in her hair.

"We're OK, me and Carly, I promise," he said softly. "_I'm_ OK."

She nodded, her nose making his shirt crease, and sniffled.

* * *

Freddie felt quite a bit better after he threw up.

He knew Carly was worried, and he was filled with guilt as she scrutinised him with panic in her eyes after he straightened up from the toilet bowl.

"I'm fine, Carly, I'm fine," he said, pulling her hands away from his face.

She eyed him sceptically, and he sighed.

"I've puked now, I feel so much better. Can I brush my teeth, though? My mouth tastes gross."

She nodded and perched on the toilet seat, watching him as he got one of the toothbrushes she kept as a spare and squeezed toothpaste onto it, and started to make circular movements over his teeth.

He turned to her, amused.

"Wha?" he asked, voice muffled by minty foam.

"I've never seen you this sick before," she said, pouting.

He smirked as well as he could, and spat into the sink.

"You worry so much that it worries me," he teased, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He knelt in front of her and took her hands.

"Carly," he said. "I've never drunk before, and I probably had too much, OK?"

She exhaled and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry; I worry too much about a lot of things."

"Hey, it's OK," he murmured, touching her cheek. "You're just a worrier, that's all. That's just you."

She smiled down at him and ran her fingers through his hair.

"You're wonderful," she said.

"I love you," he replied simply.

She pulled him upwards so he was sitting awkwardly on the toilet too, and slung her legs over his hips. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Freddie hugged her close and kissed her back slowly, savouring the intoxicating taste of her on his tongue and the incredible way she felt in his arms. She was breathing unevenly against his mouth, and he was both terrified and delighted that he could make her like that.

It was amazingly comfortable with her, because really they just acted the same, except that he held her more and they looked at each other lots without feeling guilty, and they kissed and held hands and told each other secrets and promised each other things that friends didn't promise each other.

But it scared him how perfect it was; how it seemed nothing could go wrong, because he knew that some day it would.

He hated to think that at some point in the future he was going to fuck it all up, or she was, and he'd lose the best thing in his entire life and he might not get it back. He hated that he had her now but he might not in the future.

He didn't tell anyone, but he was a worrier too.

* * *

She couldn't quite remember how they reached her bed, but they did, and she quite clearly remembered his hands smoothing over the soft skin of her stomach and his lips pressing against his collarbone and whispering _I love you I love you_ over and over again.


	6. Chapter 6

When she woke, he was gone.

* * *

There was no note on her pillow, nothing purposefully left behind.

There were only the creased sheets, the lingering scent of him and a patch of skin on her forehead that tingled as if a kiss had been pressed there.

* * *

Eventually she gathered some clothes, not concentrating on the garments she picked from the chest of drawers.

The shower did not shift the slight daze she was in.

Her mind flipped from visions of what they'd done the night before and his absence.

She remembered the way he'd touched every inch of her skin, how he'd found the most sensitive places, how he'd never closed his eyes.

And how he'd left while she was sleeping.

She ran her hands through her hair, and pulled his sweater over her head.

* * *

His phone was off, and when she knocked on the door there was no sound from inside.

She leant against the door, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her wrists again and again.

"Freddie, what's happened?" she asked quietly, knowing he couldn't hear her. "Are you mad at me?"

The silence gave her no answers, and she turned to her own apartment.

* * *

He swore.

Again.

He'd stayed in his room the whole day, swearing and pacing and freaking out and worrying and earning himself one hell of a headache.

When he'd thought about their first time together before last night, it was never like this.

He'd never pictured desperately holding her, kissing her, needing her to respond to him, to make him feel that he was doing this right.

He'd thought he'd make it perfect, make it special.

Freddie swore again and shut the memories of the previous night out, trying not to find any good in their actions.

...but all he could think of was her uneven breathing, the tiny sounds she made, the softness of her skin, her eyes at that blissful, final moment.

He screwed his eyes shut, struggling to deter any thoughts of her that would make him even more guilty.

He wanted everything to be wonderful for her, and now he'd just screwed up something huge.

He finally managed to get showered and dressed, and to make up for his morning absence he offered to run some more errands for his mom.

She grudgingly handed over the money and a list, looking at him with concern in her eyes.

"Freddie?" she asked. He stopped counting money and looked up at her. "Are you OK?"

He shrugged, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, mom."

She nodded, strangely, and let him go, watching him grab his phone and head to the door.

* * *

As he shut the door behind him there was a squeak from somewhere, and then apartment 8C was open to him, barred only by a small, staring girl.

He cursed again, in his head this time.

"Where did you go?" she asked simply, her brown eyes boring into his.

He knew she was also asking why.

"I had to," he began uneasily. "...do some stuff for my mom."

He heard her exhale a little out of her nose, and frantically searched for an expansion of his excuse.

"I mean, she texted me really early," he blabbered.

She didn't speak.

"I couldn't find any paper," he tried.

"Do you regret it or something?" she blurted, and he could see tears filling his eyes.

"N-, n-, oh, Carly, please don't cry," he begged.

She gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth. He struggled with himself, knowing that if he tried to comfort her she'd push him away, but craving to hug her and make it better.

"I thought it meant something to you!" she cried.

"It did, Carly, it meant more than anything else in the world," he pressed.

"Then why are you regretting it?" she yelled. "Why aren't you saying no, you didn't regret it?"

"Because I wasn't happy last night," he replied loudly, finally. "I was worried about a lot of things, and we were kissing and touching and stuff and you make me feel so much better, and I took that too far."

"I don't care," she answered. "I don't care about that. Nothing's perfect, Freddie, you can't expect everything to be perfect."

"But I want it to be OK for you," he pleaded. Their voices had lowered again, but they weren't standing anywhere near each other.

"It will be," she said. "But it's not going to be wonderful all the time, Freddie."

He blinked at her as she crushed his idealistic dreams, but knew she was right.

"I kind of like that it wasn't perfect," she added quietly. "And it was never going to be."

He stepped closer, and grasped her hand nervously.

She smiled up at him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Freddie, it was really amazing," she said.

"Yeah, it was," he agreed, looking down at her. The corners of his mouth turned up, and she moved into his arms.

* * *

Their first fight remained in their minds for a few hours after.

Carly had forgiven him completely, but still worried about him being worried.

Freddie had guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach, and he kept banging his head deliberately on the wall.

"You're going to lose brain cells," Carly teased, holding his head in her hands and patting the lump that was now forming.

They were looking up some new technology they could use on iCarly, sat together on his bed.

Carly pushed his laptop away from them and made him sit up.

"Freddie, are you trying to hurt yourself?" she asked sternly.

He looked sheepish, and she sighed.

"It's behind us, OK? And anyway, you were just being moral and an awesome boyfriend," she told him, stroking his hair. He closed his eyes at her touch, and nodded.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Instead of responding verbally, she leaned closer until their foreheads were resting against each other.

She waited for him to open his eyes, and then she kissed him.

He kissed her back immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist. She kept her fingers locked in his hair, and kissed him _hard_.

He moaned slightly under the pressure, triggering many flashbacks of the night before and sending goosebumps exploding all over her skin.

She broke away, gasping for air, and attached her lips to his jaw.

He groaned, gripping her t-shirt; his fingertips skimmed the bare skin of her hips.

When they'd kissed before it had been just kissing, never _touching _much.

Now it was more intimate, their lip-lock inevitably building up to something else, and it was easier to touch each other without feeling embarrassed or nervous.

He moved her into his lap, and she began pressing her hips into his, her mouth still working its slow journey down to his shoulder.

He bit his lip, electricity zinging to and from everywhere in his body.

"Carly," he murmured as her hands slid up his shirt and tugged it over his head.

"I know," she breathed against his bare chest. "I know."

* * *

He stayed this time.

* * *

She watched him sleep.

He was peaceful, his expression becoming almost innocent. She traced her fingertips over his cheek, and then mimicked the action with her lips.

"I love you," she whispered. "I _love you_."

* * *

Summer was halfway over.

The heat wave was back again, scorching the trees and decreasing their energy levels. The fans were back, the only remedy for insomnia in the humid nights.

Freddie hardly noticed, completely wrapped up in _Carly Carly Carly_.

She was everywhere; in every step that he took, way that he turned, thought that he mulled over.

Her scent lingered on his sheets, and he could smell her strawberry shampoo on all of the clothes he owned.

He was glad it was summer; otherwise he'd be getting straight F's with the amount of time he spent with her.

She stole his clothes, held his hand, touched his skin, smoothed his hair.

She loved him, and that was enough.

* * *

He was texting her when his phone rang.

He memorised what he'd written quickly, then saw his mom's picture on the screen. He pressed his thumb to the green button.

"Hello, is this Freddie?" a male voice asked in a slightly breathless voice.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"Listen, son, do you know Marissa Benson?"

"Yes, she's my mom. Why, has something happened?" A pang of fear twinged in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, but she's been in a car accident. We're not sure she's going to make it."

He froze, air not reaching him fast enough.

"W-what?" he replied, clutching the phone with two hands; it was his only contact with his mother.

"We're heading to St. Schneiders', son," the man said. Freddie heard the muffled silence and his gut clenched. "Your mother's unconscious and she'll have surgery."

"O-OK," he stammered.

"Hang in there, son," the man said finally, and then the line went dead.

Freddie didn't realise he was shaking until he started dialling Carly's number and he did it wrong five times.

She picked up immediately.

"Hey," she said, her voice warm and kind and just what he needed.

"Carly," he tried, in a strangled voice. "Carly, my mom, she's..."

He broke off, panic blocking his voice.

"Freddie, is she OK?"

He found his voice for a second.

"She's at – at the hospital," he said hoarsely.

"I'm right outside," she murmured. "Open up, let's go."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see him.

* * *

She grasped his hand tightly as they walked; neither of them had their drivers' licences yet.

He was thankful of her grip, even though it was starting to hurt and her palms were a little sweaty, but he didn't really care.

She was there.

* * *

His mom had just gone into surgery when they arrived, and so they sat in the waiting room, still holding hands, and Freddie's leg bounced up and down, and Carly nearly fell asleep.

The plastic chairs were somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable, and Carly rested her head on the back of his shoulder as he leaned forward, and their hands remained entwined.

* * *

He knew.

Of course he knew.

The pathetic mantra of _she'll be OK she'll be OK_ repeated over and over again did nothing to shift the inevitable truth.

The doctor approached them, reluctance and sympathy etched onto his face.

"Are you Freddie Benson?"

He nodded dumbly, looking up. Carly woke and blearily turned her eyes to face the doctor too.

The doctor glanced away for a second.

"She's dead," Freddie said.

"We tried everything," the doctor stressed. "She was hit too hard."

Freddie couldn't really hear him.

He blinked, feeling sort of numb.

He vaguely felt Carly shaking him, and realised the doctor was gone. He turned to her, and she reached out to smooth back his hair.

At that point he found all he wanted to do was curl up in her arms and let her take care of him.

So he moved his head down to her shoulder and felt her hands slide over his back and her mouth press into his forehead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning: there is sexual activity in this chapter.**

_for **anysa (SassySauce).**_

* * *

Carly Shay was born to care.

She was made to love, manufactured to soothe, meant to heal.

But she had no idea how to deal with this.

* * *

Freddie sat and stared at the wall.

It was white.

He blinked.

White again.

Home was so empty now.

* * *

He didn't cry.

Not one single tear.

He seemed to be numb, frozen, not accepting.

Carly sat with him every day for hours, holding his hand. Sometimes she let him rest his head in her lap and she would smooth his hair back, over and over again.

She could almost understand it. Her mother died when she was small, and she vaguely remembered the denial, the wondering where momma went, the pain in her chest.

Sometimes, if he fell asleep, she would hear him murmur something incoherent, but before she could figure out what he'd said he would wake, or curl up into a ball even further, and she would resume stroking his hair blankly.

* * *

She started staying nights, too, when he began to whimper and tug on her wrist if she got up to leave.

He was getting worse.

One night he started awake, sitting bolt upright in bed.

"Mom?" he said, speaking clearly for the first time in four days. "Mom? Where are you?"

His eyes were half-open, and he blindly, frantically, ran his hands over the sheets; searching.

Carly put a hand on his arm, alarmed.

"Freddie? Freddie, hush, go back to sleep," she urged quietly, trying to pull him down again. "It's OK, everything's OK."

"But, mom," he whispered. He clambered out of bed. "Where's my mom?"

Carly bit her lip. "She's – Freddie, come back to bed, _please _come back to bed-"

"But where is she?" he demanded, talking to no-one. "Mom? Mom?"

Carly desperately fought the burning behind her eyes, the tears, the _weakness_.

"She's gone, Freddie," she mumbled.

"Gone?" he asked, and his expression was so pitiful she wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. "Where did she go?"

She couldn't.

She couldn't say it.

"She's gone to a conference," she blurted, getting out of bed as well and going over to him. "Her parenting conference, remember?"

She could make out his blink. He nodded dumbly.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, she said."

"Yeah? It's fine, everything's fine," Carly said, forcing a smile. She patted his arm. "Come on, back to bed."

He plodded towards the bed again, and it wasn't long before she was holding him tightly in her arms, and her tears were dripping steadily into his hair.

* * *

Spencer knew Carly was breaking, shattering.

She was always taking care of Freddie, pouring all of her love into her smiles, her embraces, her forehead-kisses.

And he sat like a statue, and looked at a wall all day.

He could tell Carly was at her breaking point, her last tether, teetering on the cliff.

He was so proud of her, but she needed to be taken care of too.

* * *

The Bensons' door was open.

Spencer looked at the photos on the wall of the hallway; mostly Freddie as a little kid, some of him and his mom. Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets and went through to the living room.

"Carly?" he called.

"In here," she called back, her voice carrying from the door on the left.

He found her in Freddie's room, sitting on his bed while he typed fervently at his computer next to her.

She was watching her boyfriend; her eyes never left him. Her hand was looped under his elbow, but he didn't seem to notice.

She looked exhausted, and his heart went out for her.

"Hey, Carly. Hi there, Freddie," he said, feeling too tall and out-of-place.

Her eyes finally looked away from Freddie (who didn't respond to the greeting, only frowned and muttered something to himself) and gazed at him.

"Hi, Spencer," she said softly. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see," he replied uneasily. "how you are, what you're up to..."

"Oh," she said. She glanced at Freddie's laptop screen. "Freddie's doing – math, I think, and I'm just sitting with him."

She smiled wearily, and Spencer wanted to hug her.

"Do you guys want to go to the Groovy Smoothie or something?" he asked. Carly's eyes brightened and she pulled at the material on Freddie's elbow.

"Freddie? Freddie, do you want to go to the Groovy Smoothie?"

His head turned slowly, until he was looking blankly down at her.

"Um," he began, his voice sort of hoarse. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Great," Spencer said, feeling a little better. "Carly, do you want to call Sam?"

Carly beamed and leaned back so she could wrestle her phone from her jeans pocket. She wriggled her hips a little, and Spencer saw Freddie swallow as he watched her.

A feeling of uneasiness swelled inside him, and he knew he needed to talk to Carly later.

* * *

Sam nervously pushed open the door of the shop, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders in an ocean of curls, as of old.

She saw the three of them at a table and went over, greeting them quietly. She slid onto the stool next to Freddie, not quite sure what to say to him. He was staring into space.

"Hi, Freddie," she mumbled, giving him a rare smile. He looked up and offered her one too.

She could not even imagine how he must be feeling. She wanted to say something, but she noticed Carly was watching her warily and kept her mouth shut.

Spencer pointed his finger at her. "Strawberry Splat?"

She nodded, tapping her fingers on the table. Freddie fiddled with his phone, his expression still vacant. She could tell he was holding Carly's hand under the table, and another smile itched at the corner of her mouth.

Carly played with her, furtively glancing towards the boy next to her every minute or so. She looked worried, and tired, and pained, and Sam felt a tug on her heart at how much Carly must love Freddie.

* * *

Carly would not let go of Freddie's hand.

She dragged him into his room; pulled him down onto his bed, and stared at him determinedly.

"Freddie," she said quietly. "Freddie, you're not well."

He frowned. "I'm fine."

"Freddie," she tried, steeling herself. "Your mom _died _four days ago, and you're not eating, you're not doing _anything_, I know you didn't touch your smoothie earlier."

His eyes flashed, but he remained silent.

"Please, just, _please_, Freddie, I know you're hurting, I _know_, but please, _please_ just cry or shout or something, _please_." She begged, clasping both his hands.

His eyes narrowed, and anger filled them.

"You have _no _idea," he said quietly, dangerously.

"I do," she said. "My mom died too, Freddie."

"You didn't know her as long," he said, his voice getting louder. "She didn't raise you. She didn't do _everything _for you."

"She still loved me," Carly retorted, hurt. "And I loved her."

"But she left you when you were small," he said. "If people love you, they don't leave you."

"Yes they do!" she cried. "They do, Freddie, she's still here, she still loves you!"

"Where is she then?" he yelled. "_Where is she?"_

She stepped closer to him, glaring up at him. "She's _here_!" she shouted, jabbing a finger in his chest, by his heart. "She'll always be there. And my mom; she'll be here too, always."

She rested her hand over her heart, too. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, for a few moments.

And then he pulled on her hand and kissed her, hard.

She responded immediately, raking her hands up over his chest and feeling it shuddering beneath them. She was lifted up, her legs wrapping around his hips, and they fell backwards onto his bed, kissing feverishly.

His lips detached from hers and began to trail down her neck. "Sorry," he choked. "So sorry."

She gasped when his teeth grazed the skin at her collarbone, her answer the moan that escaped past her hitching breaths.

She could feel his tears on her skin, and his fingertips smoothing over her ribs, and suddenly she was aching for him, desperate for his touch.

She groaned, reaching for his shirt and pulling it impatiently over his head. He, in turn, found the hem of her top and pulled it upwards. Her hair was a mess, but she knew he liked it better that way.

He kissed her lips again, assaulting them with his teeth and tongue. She whimpered, her breath coming in sobs. Their tears mixed as her nose pressed into his cheek (like it always did), and it wasn't long before he was unzipping her jeans and pushing them down her legs, his hands ghosting over her thighs and sending bolts of electricity towards the place between her legs he'd only recently discovered.

"Freddie," she mumbled. "Freddie, I love you, so much."

He was crying, her skin drenched with salt water. He cradled her face.

"I love you," he said, his voice haltering as his breath caught. "I love you, Carly, I fucking love you."

She bit her lip, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as he undid his jeans and took them off, and then when he turned to face her again she kissed him again.

His hands ran up her sides, gently cupping her, his sobs stabbing into her mouth. She moaned and ground her hips up into his. He hissed and let one hand trail downwards, dipping dangerously.

She bit down on his bottom lip as his fingers swiped over her, stifling a cry when they delved deeper.

"Freddie," she said breathlessly. "Freddie, please."

He felt her tugging at his underwear, and he helped her shove them down over his hips. He kissed her again, and laid her back down, hovering over her. She was crying, he was crying, and this wasn't going to make anything better, but it offered something like comfort for a brief moment or two.

He moved, and she raised her hips, and she let out something like a whimper, and he fell in love with her all over again.

She was flushed pink, her eyelids fluttering as her hips met his. He felt sweat trickling down over his body, and saw a droplet making its way down her chest. He bent and licked it, making her gasp and pull on the hair at the bottom of his neck.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, where her sweat-matted hair stuck to her skin. She smelled wonderful; like her perfume, like fresh, clean skin, like home.

She did something incredible with her muscles down _there_ and he groaned. He could feel it building; and knew by her shorter breaths that she was close too.

She scraped her fingernails across his chest, leaving marks in his skin.

He began to slow, knowing she was tired, and he was still almost there, nearly there...

She cried out, suddenly, her head flying back and her back arching. The sight of her was mesmerising, and he stared and stared until he too groaned loudly and spent himself.

She had not stopped weeping silently, and neither had he.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry. This is most terribly short and crappy. But I needed to get this update to you all, and I'm writing this with six minutes before my computer logs me off, so this is pretty rushed in places. I promise the next chapter will be longer and a helluva lot better.**

**In this chapter: A little bit of Spam, and some Sibby. **

**Don't you _dare_ just add this to your favourite story list without reviewing. seriously. *glares* feedback is lovely.**

**edit: sorry, guys, I re-uploaded the chapter to put the line breaks in. **

* * *

He stood in front of the grave, hands in his pockets. He sighed, his breath catching on the summer breeze.

"Hi, mom," he murmured. "I miss you."

* * *

Carly smiled as Freddie signed a notebook for a small girl, watching him speak softly and offering his signature smirk to the starstruck fan.

He was happier. After that night he'd started to talk and smile and he even laughed at Sam's jokes again.

Freddie was coming back.

He straightened up, watching the little girl run, red-faced, back to her parents. He took Carly's hand and squeezed it, and she knew it held promises.

"Okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she replied, and he slipped his arm around her before leading her home.

* * *

Sam ripped a piece of ham from the hunk of meat in front of her, eyes glazing over with lust.

The Shay's apartment was pretty empty apart from the drilling noises and occasional yelps of pain drifting from Spencer's room. Carly and Freddie had gone to the Groovy Smoothie and were probably kissing in the corner over fries, so she allowed herself to bond with her one true love – ham.

Her eyelids fluttered shut as the ham made its way into her mouth, and then there was a soft groan from a small distance away.

She looked up and saw Spencer staring at her.

"Hey," she said hoarsely.

The corner of his mouth turned up for a second in a response, but he continued to look at her. She squirmed under his gaze; the feeling was not unpleasant.

Because it wasn't like she hadn't imagined his hard, big, artist's hands running over her skin with the same delicacy he reserved for his sculptures.

She kept her eyes on his, and slipped another piece of the ham into her mouth. He swallowed noticeably, and she felt something pooling in the pit of her stomach.

The counter was suddenly slippery under her palm; she realised her hands were sweaty.

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him and, reluctantly, covered the ham again with the tin foil. She straightened from where she was leaning against the countertop and turned to face him fully.

His eyes traced the curve of her hip and they were dark with something that used to be illegal.

She finally moved; legs long and tanned in shorts. She made her way to the door, and maybe she swung her hips a little more than she usually did.

Carly was right; there's nothing like being wanted by a man.

* * *

Freddie laughed as Carly wrinkled her nose at the fry.

"It's green," she protested.

"So? Still edible," he said, popping it into his mouth. Her nose now looked like it would wrinkle permanently.

"I am not kissing you later," she told him, and he smirked.

"We'll see, gorgeous," he retorted, pecking her on the nose and smoothing the wrinkles out.

She scowled at him, and she was adorable.

* * *

Gibby decided that Guppy seriously needed some form of girlfriend.

Like the cute kind of kid girlfriend, where you kiss shyly and share candy and hold each others' sticky hands.

He dragged his whining brother along to the playground, and nursed a bruise while Guppy sulked on the swings.

"Come on!" he called. "Look, she's cute!"

The girl in question was rather adorable, sitting on the concrete floor and pouting at some other children who were shrieking in the sandpit.

Guppy eyed her with some interest and looked slightly less grumpy.

"Go on," Gibby chivvied. His brother hopped from the swing and went over to her, sitting cross-legged next to her and engaging her in a conversation about ice cream.

Gibby grinned and wished he had the same kind of confidence when it came to a blonde spitfire.

* * *

Sam knew she _wanted _him.

Like she craved meat at three am, like her mom ached for love, like Freddie wanted that new camera.

She wondered if he'd make her feel like Carly said Freddie did.

(She knew Freddie loved Carly with everything he ever had and ever would have.)

She also wondered if he just wanted her for her violence and her curves and her hair and not _her_.

This wasn't right. He's twelve years older than her. He's _thirty._

She ran her fingers through her hair and felt beautiful.

* * *

Guppy had won this little girl over completely, it seemed, and she was gazing at him in adoration while he rambled about birthdays in that strange voice of his.

Gibby gave him a thumbs-up and Guppy grinned, not noticing his brother's grimace as his fingers massaged the same bruise over and over again.

"What you frowning for?"

He looked up and saw Sam watching him, the sun right behind her and making her look stunning.

"H-hey, Sam," he stammered, shifting on the bench so she could sit.

"Shit, what did you do to your leg, dude?" she asked, prodding his leg lightly. He sucked in a breath; he wasn't completely sure it was from the sharp pain.

"Shawn punched me," he explained, and her head shot up to look at him.

"What?"

"He said I pissed him off," Gibby told her, stretching out his leg. "Don't know what I did."

"He's ape-shit, Gib, don't take him seriously," she reassured him, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't you kick-box?"

"Yeah," Gibby smirked. "Haven't seen him around lately, have you?"

Sam gazed at him, eyes full of something like pride and something like awe. "Wow."

He shrugged. "He hit me first."

"Doesn't he always?" Sam said dryly. "When was this?"

"Last week," he said, focusing on a thin lock of hair that had drifted away from her normal exquisite, perfect curls.

"Oh."

There was silence for a minute, and Gibby noticed Sam smiling at Guppy and his new lady friend.

"Uh, Sam?" he blurted, not knowing where this sudden flare of courage had come from.

"What's up?"

"Do you want to go get ice cream or something, like, sometime?"

He was crossing his fingers behind his back, and hoped she didn't see.

She blinked, and the only part of her that moved was her hair in the breeze.

"Gibby..." she started, and his heart plummeted.

"No, it's okay," he replied glumly, and folded his arms. He couldn't really look at her.

"Gibby, I'm sorry."

He was alarmed to hear a thickness in her voice, and turned to see her fighting tears.

"Hey, no worries," he said softly. "Let's just forget it, okay?"

She nodded jerkily, and he slipped his hand into hers.

"So, what do you think of Guppy's girlfriend?" he asked, and she giggled.

"She's cute," she replied, and they moved their attention to the kids in front of them, who were very red. Gibby noticed a sticky shape of a mouth on his brother's cheek and laughed.

"I think she kissed him," he murmured, leaning closer to Sam.

"That's adorable," she cooed, and she sounded frighteningly girly. "What? I think this is cute just as much as Carly does."

He shook his head, very confused.

They continued to hold hands and watch the children in front them. He couldn't feel the heat of the sun as something cold pierced him right through.


	9. Chapter 9

**a/m: okay, this ones quite a lot longer than the last chapter, no worries. xD I got to 50 reviews after the last chapter, THANK YOU SO MUCH. I have the best readers ever, and this chapter is dedicated to every single one of you. :)**

**warning: sexytiems in this chapter. I had a go at kind of non-suggestive smut, so. enjoy? xD also I'm sorry. But Freddie's maybe not as okay as he seems? :c **

* * *

Freddie grinned as Carly squirmed and sighed under his wandering fingers. He loved that he could make her jelly in his hands.

"Freddie," she moaned. "Don't _stop_."

"Never," he said, finding _that spot_ and watching her in awe as she threw her head back.

She grabbed him, their mouths colliding harshly. He slipped his tongue lazily into her mouth as if he were stacking plates, and she whimpered.

She was losing control and he knew his dominance would be short-lived; she pushed him backwards onto the floor and laid atop him, her pelvis rolling slightly against his.

"God, Carly," he choked, reduced to a quivering mess in less than ten seconds.

She smirked down at him, her dark eyes shining. "Yes, honey?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't say 'honey'."

"Mm, it's not for me," she agreed, her hand trailing down his chest. "I think you need to take off your shirt."

"Only if you take off your pants," he retorted, offering her a lopsided grin.

"We're going to get there anyway," she said, rolling off him and wiggling out of her jeans. "Sooner rather than later."

He ripped off his shirt with enthusiasm and returned to her arms.

* * *

Sam idly pushed the ham around, feeling rather alarmed that it looked a tad unappetizing.

Gibby's disappointed face was branded onto the inside of her eyes. The guilt was crushing; he was so sweet, and there were a number of times where his muscles and chiselled jaw had made her mouth dry. Why on earth couldn't she have said yes?

A tall, bumbling, incredibly sexy artist came to mind.

Spencer had always been the one-date-a-week guy, going through women like Sam would FatCakes, and it was almost careless the way he handled them. God, he probably got laid, like, three times a week, and she worried that she would just be another lady to grace the sheets of his bed and the touch of his hands before he met someone else.

* * *

Guppy giggled as his girlfriend licked her fingers clean of the chocolate sauce. They were sharing a sundae and neither of them were eating much, most of it caking on their hands and on their faces.

Her name was Lucy, and she was _so _pretty, and he really loved her pigtails and her shoes, and he knew they were going to be together forever. She laughed until her cheeks turned pink and kicked her little legs and smiled toothily (or lack-of-toothily) at him like nobody else did.

Later, when Gibby was driving him home, he didn't stop talking about her. He could tell his big brother was proud of him, because Gibby always told him that getting a girl to like you is the hardest thing ever, unless you're hot like Shane or cute like Freddie.

Or six. Like Guppy.

* * *

Sam knocked on the Shays' door the next morning, and it opened to Spencer's sleep-ruffled figure. She swallowed.

"Hi, Spencer," she said quietly.

"Hey," he replied hoarsely, dark eyes flicking down over her body and then up again.

There was a moment of silence, and then she didn't know if it was her who reached for him or him who pulled her into his arms but all she did know was that they were kissing, and the heat that had simmered under her skin for weeks had now bubbled to the surface. She moaned and he groaned and she'd _never _been kissed like this before (_like she was beautiful and he wanted her so much it hurt_).

He had her up against the wall, now, and he tore his mouth from hers to breathe, and then to devour her throat with.

"_Oh_," she was reduced to nothing, any sarcastic comments that might have brewed extinguished by his kisses. He nipped lightly at her skin with his teeth and she writhed.

"I know," he was muttering, fingers clenched at her waist almost painfully. "I know this is wrong."

"I'm legal," she gasped, as his tongue flicked her pulse point. "It's not – _mm_ – illegal anymore."

"That'll work," she could feel him grinning against her skin. "For now."

"_Bedroom_," she moaned, her fingernails raking at his chest. "_Now_."

He was never one to refuse her.

He picked her up like they did in the movies; her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms tight around his neck. He stumbled up the steps and then past the sculptures, and then opened his door with a free hand (she was so light he could have let go of her completely). She was reciprocating his previous gestures to his own neck, and it was difficult not to throw her down onto his bed and have his way with her.

He decided to resume their against-a-door position and almost slammed her into the wood, closing his door in the process. She gasped and threw her head back.

"Sorry," he muttered, licking at the skin below her earlobe.

"'S'okay," she rolled her hips into his, and his forehead dropped to hers.

"Bed?"

"Duh," she fisted her hands in his hair and kissed him again, aching for more of him.

Spencer complied and managed to walk them over to his bed, and then slumped back onto it. She now straddled his lap, and he swore he'd never been this turned on in his life.

She pushed him backwards (she was always going to be the dominant one) and placed her hands either side of his head, their mouths still colliding and mashing against each other in some kind of broken dance.

He knew that this was not the first time for either of them. He'd overheard her discussing her love life with his sister, and although he'd backed away from their whispering as quickly as possible it became apparent that two boyfriends had taken that step with her. She was very, _very _sexy (well, obviously, he was _making out_ with her on his _bed_) and even though she often came across as abrasive and intimidating this was actually extremely attractive to a lot of men. For a girl her age this experience was not very unusual, but nobody would dare to utter the word '_slut_' in a two-sentence radius of her name.

And the young woman atop him was not a desperate skank, she was a _goddess_, all curves and long soft hair and silky skin. He placed his hands on the backs of her thighs, meeting her kisses with his own fervent ones. She was grinding against him, and everything was hot, too hot. She seemed to be on the same wavelength and began to tug on the hem of his shirt. He sat up a bit to help her, and their combined effort ended with it tossed somewhere in his room.

Sam's blue eyes darkened at the sight of his bare chest, and her hands reached out eagerly to explore this new territory. If he was jelly before, now he was molten under her palms, her touch the flame under the heat pooling rather uncomfortably in his sweatpants.

She ran her hands up and down him, greedy in her quest. She looked at him like she did that ham the other day, as if she wanted to gobble him up to the last morsel.

He had been compared to food on a number of occasions, and normally this was quite hurtful. But Sam _loved _her food, and this was a compliment when it came to her. It made the only part of his body with blood in it ache even more.

She completed her task, and leaned down to mould her mouth to his again. He raised his head to respond to it as forcefully as he could, trying to convey his desperate need for her. Sam straightened suddenly, and, crossing her arms at the bottom of her tank top, pulled it up and over her head.

Wow. _Wow_.

He stared at her chest, heart beating wildly, and automatically reached upwards to touch her. She moaned and sighed, eyes fluttering closed. The sight of it caused his mouth to dry further, and he ran his thumbs over the hard peaks muffled by the lacy material. She purred, hands coming down on his chest again.

They were just touching, feeling, getting used to the unfamiliar planes of skin that would soon meet. There was no rush, which surprised him, as the tension building between the two of them was screaming to be shattered as soon as possible.

But he was quite happy to wait and do what she wanted to; go as far as she wanted to, because he felt bad enough for being attracted to someone who was one, twelve years his junior and two, his little sister's best friend.

She lay back down again, the fabric of her bra brushing on his chest. His skin tingled, and as their mouths fused again she brought her hands behind her and he heard the faint click of the fastenings of the bra coming undone. This, quite possibly, was the catalyst for the final piece of his control breaking off.

He flipped them over, both of them now wrestling her out of her bra. He caught the crook of her left (or was it right?) knee with his hand and hooked it at his waist, making it easier for the key anatomies in this process to meet through those annoying garments called clothes.

She gasped, her back arching. Their bare chests collided softly and he growled into her neck, which he had resumed feasting on.

"Spencer," she choked, her first words for a long time. "Just – just _touch me_."

And he did.

* * *

Freddie stared down at his mother's gravestone, face blank. The tulips in his hand were drooping already, and he hadn't moved for five minutes straight.

In his head her voice swirled, scolding and fretting, the words spinning faster and faster until there was a single screeching word – his name.

He put on a brave face for Carly, shoving this scream into the back of his mind until his weekly visits to her grave. He knew Carly worried about him, and he'd _scared _her, the first few days. He hated that he'd made her lose sleep over him, and so all his effort went into smiling and laughing and living.

He'd always hated his mom's over-parenting, over-worrying, constant presence; when she just tried to love him in the best way she could.

The morning she'd – the morning of that day, he'd yelled at her, saying she didn't need to puree his cereal (he _did _have teeth, really) and why did she have to go overboard all the time? He hadn't said goodbye, told her that she and Carly fought for first place when it came to the most important woman in his life, that he really did love her.

He moved, finally, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he murmured, kneeling down and placing the flowers carefully on the marble. "I miss you."

He kissed his fingers and touched the top of the stone, pressing down hard until pain shot through his hand. It was feeling something, and through his grimace there was a slight euphoria.

He knew he should tell Carly he wasn't okay, that she could still hug him every five minutes and hold on for a while, and wouldn't mind at all.

But he couldn't bear her love, couldn't understand how she had so much of it and it wasn't going anywhere, and how _she _wasn't going anywhere. She'd spent half of their friendship saying _no_, _Freddie we're just friends_, _I'm sorry I don't feel that way_, and he still wasn't used to her kisses and adoring smiles and moans of his name. He almost felt he was breaking rules when he suckled on her bottom lip or touched her cheek or slipped his fingers over the deliciously soft skin of her thighs.

_But_, he thought. _What other boyfriend has been her best friend?_

This was comforting, but he still really needed that hug.

* * *

Sam's head rocketed backwards into the headboard; she was oblivious to the pain as she erupted in spasms and her body felt like it had just gone up in flames.

She vaguely heard him cry her name hoarsely as they continued to move together, hips meeting frantically in their delirious states of pleasure.

"Oh, _oh_," she groaned, gripping his shoulders as the final waves ebbed away, and she slumped, sated and exhausted.

He moved to the side slightly before collapsing and slinging his arm over her waist. They were both panting. She stared up at the ceiling, clammy all over.

"Whoa," he breathed, and she turned her face to look at him.

"Yeah," she said, and then they both burst out laughing.

"This is – this is so _weird_," she giggled, rolling onto her side to face him properly.

"Very weird," he wheezed, sweat leaving his skin glistening. "But it was pretty good, right?"

"Pretty good?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"You know what I mean," he said, suddenly serious as he gazed at her. She looked back, and kissed him softly.

"Yeah, I do," she replied quietly when she drew back, and he smiled at her.

"Carly's going to be home soon," she mumbled, reaching for her underwear. "I'd better go eat some ham or something."

That word made him smirk, but he nodded. "Yeah, I'd better get dressed too."

They gathered their clothes and pulled them on in silence, both aware of the glances they snuck at each other.

When she'd tugged on her shoes and used his comb to tidy up her hair, they stared at each other before she moved towards him and pressed a very quick kiss to his mouth.

"Bye," she whispered, and hurried out of the door, feeling his eyes on her.

* * *

Carly was returning from her visit to the local pharmacy when she spotted her boyfriend across the street. She was going to wave but then she took in his hunched shoulders and miserable expression, and she turned her head in all directions; where was the crossing?

She found it, and hurried towards it, dodging the milling people. Her handbag and plastic carrier bag clanked behind her, and her hair flew past her shoulders. She checked both ways when she reached the crossing, and ran over the road.

She raced towards him, calling his name. He looked up, eyes desperately sad, and she stopped short.

"Hi," he barely said, and she mouthed his name. "I was looking for you; can I have a hug?"

"Oh, _Freddie,_" she said tearfully, and wrapped her arms very tightly around him. He clung to her, forehead pressed to her shoulder.

Carly Shay was never one of the smartest girls, but it would be obvious to anyone that he was crying silently into her hair. She rubbed circles on his back, hoping that this was comforting.

"I'm here," she said softly into his chest. "I'm right here."

Maybe some people stopped and stared, maybe they ignored the young couple embracing frantically. Carly and Freddie cared for nothing more than each other in those moments, the still warmth of the summer evening frigid compared to the hot, burning love that coursed through their veins.

"I know," she whispered, a couple of her own tears trickling down her cheek. "I know, my love."

And she did.

* * *

**please don't just story alert/favourite! reviews and feedback are like chocolate, okay. :3**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey, guys, remember me? It's been about six months since I updated this thing. I am so sorry for the wait, I started this literally the day after I posted the last chapter and then I went away and got distracted and then school began. This year the workload has practically doubled and I have GCSEs and I've been studying and bogged down with work, and the lack of iCarly episodes has rid me of my inspiration. Even for my drabble collection. I posted a couple of things for the creddiefans forum Secret Santa challenge which I'll link to at my profile. I hope this chapter is sufficient in making my absence up to you all! I hope you also all had a lovely Christmas and New Year, as well as a well-deserved break. C:**

**more smut in this chapter, guys, so to those of you with innocent eyes, look away and come back in a couple of years! It's not hideously graphic but still. xD**

* * *

She was dying, she was sure.

His large hands were so soft and gentle on her hips, guiding their movements and making her feel safe. He was panting into her neck, almost sinking into her skin. He was heavy, even though he supported his weight on his arms; it was not unpleasant. In fact, as every limb touched and squeezed and _moved_ the sensations heightened.

"Gibby," she breathed, eyes fluttering closed and her hair sticking to her clammy neck. "_Yes,_ oh, _Gibby_."

"Sam," he groaned, kissing his way up her jaw until their mouths collided. He kissed her like she was the only air left in the world, and she'd never felt like this before. She'd never have guessed that the chubby boy who was prone to removing his shirt would coax these sounds and feelings from her.

She was hurtling towards that blissful edge again, her arms wrapping desperately around his neck and her cries turning to breathless squeaks. And she was falling, falling...

_Thump_.

Sam's eyes shot open and found her carpet.

"Shit," she muttered, mind racing. "Oh my God."

She was dreaming about Gibby. She was dreaming about Gibby holding her and kissing her and moving within her and through the haze of her dream-state it had felt like the best sex she'd ever had.

But she wasn't supposed to feel like that, because just last week she'd turned him down for ice cream and also she had a sort of _thing _with Spencer.

She'd slept with him three times now. And it got better every second.

She pushed herself up from the floor, fists rubbing over her eyes. Her hair hung like cobwebs around her, and she reached for her brush.

Wincing as she managed to rip strands of her from her scalp, Sam let the sharp pain wake her up a little. She couldn't think of Gibby that way. Not odd, loud, greedy Gibby, who snacked every hour and –

That sounded slightly familiar.

She and Gibby had always got on well, because he understood her fetish for violence and food and didn't seem to mind when she used him as a punching bag (she suspected it didn't hurt anymore).

He was a _friend_, someone to talk to and tease and she always needed him to lean back on when Carly and Freddie were being _sensible_.

And when he asked her out, he looked like if she said yes it would have been the best thing ever to happen to him.

* * *

Freddie squeezed Carly's hand as he sat with her on the Shay's couch, his throat constricting but the words still flooding out of him.

"I feel so guilty," he said. "I mean, all she did was love me the way she felt was right, and I thought she was embarrassing, and really over the top. I didn't appreciate her."

Carly said nothing; she placed her other hand on top of his.

"I yelled at her," he said, head drooping. "The last time I saw her, I yelled at her. Can you believe that? And now I can't say sorry."

"You didn't know," Carly gazed at him, sympathy lining her face. "Freddie, she knew you love her."

He was grateful for the present tense.

"_I_ didn't," he said, focusing on his lap. "Most the time she pissed me off. But that was the only way to love me that she knew."

He screwed his eyes shut for a second.

"She deserved more," he mumbled. "She was – she was _amazing_. I didn't realise it."

Carly moved to hug him, but he leaned away. Her hurt expression made his gut twist painfully but he shook his head.

"I think – I think I need to be alone," he said hoarsely, and she nodded quite reluctantly.

"I'll – I'll see you later," she replied quietly, getting up and wringing her hands. He stood up too and pressed his mouth to her temple very lightly.

"I'm _sorry_," he breathed, fingertips fumbling for her hand again. "I'm sorry."

When he left he couldn't feel her eyes watching him go.

* * *

"Ooh, Spencer," Sam hissed as his fingers dipped lower. She felt his smirking into the inside of her thigh before he kissed it. "Would you just get to it?"

"Get to what, beautiful?" he murmured, tongue flicking over her skin. She inhaled sharply and her breathing quickened ever so slightly.

"It's right _there_," she moaned, writhing underneath his teasing touch.

She heard his snigger and almost kicked him, but then she whimpered as his mouth finally reached its destination.

"Oh my _God_," she let her hips rise and fall.

"Shh," he found her hand momentarily and caressed it. "No talking now."

"What if," she panted, toes curling. "I wanted to – _yes_ – say your – _Spencer_!"

"That's fine," his voice against her made her tremble. "That's absolutely fine."

"You can- you can," she cried out suddenly at a flick of his tongue. "Touch –"

His sigh of relief met her own. "Thank you."

As she heard a rustle of clothing and then his soft groan, any thoughts of guilt flew from her mind and she focused on these few moments of escape.

* * *

Three plates. One cup. A mug. Just Spencer's coffee mug to do now – and then.

And then she'd be out of distractions.

It had been three hours since his departure and she was fiddling and cleaning and she was even considering baking some freaking brownies or something. She looked at her phone again, tempted so badly to just text him – to see if he was okay, if he wanted her again.

Her fingers inched towards it.

* * *

Sam licked her ice cream absentmindedly, her shorts too hot and rough and her t-shirt too tight.

His hands had left marks on her skin and she could take as many showers as she wanted but he'd left his essence buried within the crannies of her joints. She didn't know that artists' hands could be so calloused and yet so soft over her shoulders; she didn't know his fingers could move so rhythmically in contrast to his heavy, shallow breathing; she didn't know his hipbones could stick out like that, drawing her gaze downwards.

She only came back to the present at a sudden, wet splatter of cold on her finger. Her ice cream was melting, the pink liquid dripping steadily onto her hand. She smirked and wiped it on her jeans before returning to her snack with gusto.

* * *

"Hey, um, it's me, I was just checking you were okay. I know you said you wanted to be alone but it's been like three hours, Freddie, please can you come back over? I – I'm sorry, I just – I just worry. Just – just text me? Please?"

She sighed before mumbling a farewell and then wrapping her hand around the cushion on her lap. She buried her nose in the soft fabric and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

* * *

Sam found Gibby with his little brother; they were arguing over baseball.

"But if you hit it _really_ hard, buddy," Gibby was pressing. "You don't even need to run."

"I want to run!" Guppy stomped his foot.

"Hey, guys," Sam stopped in front of them, an eyebrow raised.

"Sam!" Guppy squealed, suddenly distracted. He ran and hugged her round the middle. "You're the prettiest girl ever."

"You better think so," she tapped his head awkwardly. "Let go of me, you little monster."

"Okay," he removed his little arms and ran back to his brother. "You were right, Gibby, she's hot!"

Gibby turned scarlet and immediately slapped his hand over his brother's mouth. "Guppy, don't objectify her!"

Sam could feel a smirk catching at her mouth and merely stared at her friend. "That's okay. Sometimes we like to feel hot."

Gibby's eyes darkened ever so slightly.

* * *

Freddie found himself having difficulty knocking on Carly's door half an hour after receiving her message. He did hate worrying her, and he wasn't mad at her all – he just took his sweet time being alone. He had to raise his fist twice before rapping shortly on her door and stepping back nervously. He heard a pattering of quick feet and leaned his head in the direction of where the door opened in preparation.

"Freddie!" she'd never looked happier to see him. "Hi, is everything okay – I mean, you were gone for ages and you didn't pick up your phone."

"I didn't mean to be so long," he held out his arms and she rushed into them. "I just – I just sat there, at her grave."

She let him go and pulled him to her couch. The déjà-vu sent a pang of guilt through his stomach – he was killing her.

"Carly," he tugged her under his arm. "I shouldn't lay this all on you."

She was shaking her head. "Freddie, I love you, and we're going to work this out – you and me. Okay? I'm here because I want to be and I want to make you happy again."

He pushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her deeply.

"You're _amazing_," he breathed into her mouth, breaking away for just a moment. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Probably," she gasped, reaching for his mouth again and moaning when he nipped at her bottom lip a little. He smiled into their kiss and wrapped his arms tightly around her tiny body.

He loved small, quiet moments like these when he could just hold her and kiss her and _love_ her with no interruptions and no expectations and no distractions.

He suckled gently on her tongue and revelled in the beautiful sounds coming from the beautiful girl in his embrace.

* * *

Sam did not know what the hell was happening between her and Spencer. She didn't know if he was referring to her as a girlfriend, a lover – and she couldn't exactly call him and say "Hey, Spence, can I fuck Gibby? Is that okay?"

The bedroom eyes she was getting from her formerly chubby friend were overwhelming and she could feel her body fluttering and heating and softening almost as she breathed. His eyes were caressing her curves and she could nearly _feel_ his gaze – his hot, blaring gaze.

Summer was almost over but the heat was still everywhere.

She was forgetting the tall, quirky she had slept with just last night – the softness of his hands, the way they were large enough to cup her wholly, to make her sigh his name. She just knew that the boy in front of her wanted her, and the desire was fully reciprocated.

"Guppy," he blurted, not breaking their suddenly locked gaze. "Hey, buddy, there's Lucy."

"Awesome!" His little brother spotted his lady friend and toddles over, leaving them alone.

"There's an alley," she said huskily, inching forwards. Her gaze was slow as it moved away to indicate said alley. "Over there. We've got about five minutes."

His expression remained blank, but she saw his pupils dilate and smirked.

"Ten, maybe," he said softly, a streak of tenderness mixed into his deepened voice. "I could do ten."

Her eyebrows shot upwards. "Deal."

He grasped her hand and they began to stride towards the alley. Sam swore she could feel millions of pairs of eyes on her – judging her, scolding her – but she ignored it and walked even faster to the alleyway. They reached it eventually and went further down it and round the corner.

"Privacy," she hissed at his frown. His face cleared and he nodded.

This was it. Their spot.

They faced each other, hands now gripped tightly. Gibby leaned immediately, but Sam stopped him momentarily.

"Do you have protection?" she murmured, and at his nod finally kissed him.

It was surprisingly gentle, _slow_, for this kind of place they were in – for what they were about to do. There was no tongue thrust into her mouth – oh, there it was, but it was so _careful._ Like he thought she (_this_) could break any second. She pressed harder. He pushed back.

"Wall," she choked, pulling away.

"Okay," he lifted her easily and leaned her against the wall. The bricks scraped a little at her bare shoulders and upper back, but she didn't care. Her legs were twisting around his waist and _now_ the fire is racing through her. Her blood vessels pumped – everything felt like it wasburning.

He traced the curve of her hip to her thigh with his palm, now kissing down her neck. She writhed and moaned, wanting _more_, _more_, _more_ and always needing his touch and his kiss. She had her hands under his shirt, finally marking the much dreamt-of muscles with the invisible ink of her fingers. He was moving his hand up her waist, her ribs, to the place where she loved to be touched and he clearly loved to touch. He was so gentle but everything felt so fast and desperate and she was _falling_ again and gasping and needing him _there_ right now.

She was unbuttoning his jeans and he was tugging down her cotton shorts (cooler than denim – advice from Carly) and slipping his hand into her underwear and she _moaned_.

Their upper-body clothes didn't matter – just the ones covering the necessary body parts. She didn't even look at him, not that bit of him, she just rocked her hips and went for what she'd set out to get in the first place.

He was panting in her ear, and it was so like her dream that she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

And she tried to hold on as he surged within her. 


End file.
